


Entombed

by Dellessa



Series: 2015 Birthday Project [12]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Captivity, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dellessa/pseuds/Dellessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/101013672710/imagine-that-person-a-of-your-ot3-is-the-only</p><p>Imagine that Person A of your OT3 is the only prisoner of a hidden, secure facility that’s been long forgotten by the people who made it; Person B is a thief breaking into the facility to see if there is anything or anyone worth salvaging; and Person C is the only remaining guard of Person A and the facility. The three of them meet and decide to leave the facility together, possibly to track down the person who abandoned it with A and C inside. What happens next is up to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entombed

The walls of the prison were white. Glaringly white. There was nothing to see, nothing to do so Prowl escaped into himself. He moved sluggishly, only remembering to refuel when warnings would flash across his HUD. His processor moving as slowly as a city-formers in hibernation. He had never seen the enforcers coming. Never expected to be carted off to one of the secret facilities far below Cybertron’s surface. His own people. It hurt his spark. Hurt it enough that it was tempting to just lay on the berth and ignore the pings, to let himself whither away. Shut down was almost preferable to this little piece of the pit. 

He knew that they were trying to protect an asset. Trying to keep him safe and out of Decepticon hands. They THOUGHT they were doing the right thing, but it was the farthest thing from it. He would have gone mad long ago had he not still had access to the datanet, as restricted as it was. It fed him progress reports, and he would make his suggestions. Only the data was turning from a river to the smallest of trickles. The more that Prowl looked at the information the more he became convinced that no one was even reviewing the reports and calculations he sent out. 

He had been forgotten about, and left here to rust away.

He was not the only one though...

He knew that the guards had dwindled as well until there was a single mech left. He could not see the guard, but he could hear him. Hear his pedsteps, and they always had the same cadence, and sometimes---if he strained his audials---he could hear the guard as well. 

He wished the mech would just open his cell. Maybe the war had ended. Whether they had won or lost it was clear that they have been long forgotten, and left to rust away.

OoOoOoOo

Smokescreen was bored out of his processor. The other guards had left for other stations one by one, going where the Autobot army needed them. They had been called once a decacycle by Autobot headquarters, but eventually that had even stopped a quarter-vorn ago. There was nothing but Smokescreen, silence and the prisoner’s door. Had Alpha Trion not insisted that he go here he would have ran off long ago, but he had faith that his Mentor would contact him when he was needed.

He had to have faith, there was little else these days. The datastreams had became a trickle. No news. Few reports. It made Smokescreen fret. He had long since given up on trying to reach Alpha via comm, that communication was eerily silent. 

Each sol that passed he became more concerned. More lonely. Mecha of his frame-type were not supposed to exist in isolation. He felt like he was on the edge of glitching. 

He thought he might even be glitching when he heard the rustling coming from the ventilation system, a grill was pushed out of place. He stared, agast as a mech dropped down from the open area in the ceiling and landed nimbly. He staggered back as soon as he spotted Smokescreen, “Who the frag are you?” the mech asked, raising a blaster at Smokescreen. 

“I-I’m Smokescreen. Alpha Trion sent me here to guard the prisoner.”

“Ah...mech...Alpha’s been missing an age. Wars over. Cons won. You seriously been here this whole time?” the visored mech asked. 

“O-over? What? It can’t be! He said he would come and get me. He said...he said---” 

“Well clearly the old codger lied to yah, mechling.” 

Smokescreen shook. How could this mech say such a thing? He didn’t know Alpha. He couldn't. Alpha had taken him in when he was a youngling. When he had lost his creators, and became as much of a caretaker to him as they had been. He had seen Smokescreen through to his adult upgrades. He had protected him. “Who are you? How can you say such things?” 

“Calm down, my mech. I’m just a nobody. Only came down here to look for scrap to sell. Better’n sellin’ my frame.” The mech shrugged, “They call me Jazz.” THe mech looked around the room, finally stopping at the prisoners door. “Who ya keepin?” 

“I don’t know. I was told not to open the door,” Smokescreen said. 

Jazz snorted, “Always do what you’re told? What’s the fun in that? ‘Sides, it’s not like it matters anymore. No one even knows you're down here. You’re forgotten. Might as well take a peek.” He poked around at the lock, before finally pulling out a pick from his subspace. “Funny thing that they used manual locks. Think your guest might hack his way out?” Jazz shrugged, his attention went back to the lock. 

Smokescreen flinched when the lock snapped open. It seemed to echo and reverberate through the room. 

The door swung open revealing the white walls beyond. The mech sprawled on the berth nearly blended in with them. his plating as white as the walls. Smokescreen thought he was offlined, but then he stirred, gold optics fixed on them both.

The mech opened his mouth, but nothing but static emerged. He tried again with a look of frustration, “Who are you?”

“Jazz. I’m Jazz, pretty mech.” 

The white mech raised an optical ridge, “I need to be taken to Sentinel Prime. Now.” 

“He’s in the well, mech. Nearly a quarter of a vorn gone. There are no Autobots, mech.”

The mech nodded, “I am Prowl. I was Sentinel’s CTO.” 

“W-why would they lock you up then?” Smokescreen whispered.

“They didn’t want me in Decepticon hands. I suppose that is a moot point if what Jazz says is true,” Prowl said, his optics dimming. 

“We should leave,” Jazz said. “Come on. We could all leave, maybe find Alpha Trion. Whadya think?”

Smokescreen and Prowl exchanged looked, before they both nodded, what other choice did they have? They could stay there and be forgotten of slip off with Jazz into the shadows and find themselves again. 

“We should,” Prowl said with a little nod, “We will.”


End file.
